


Love to Hate You

by Mimi011



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Artistic Differences, Hair Pulling, Hate Kissing?, Implied Hate Sex, M/M, No Smut, hot space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-30 04:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16757602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimi011/pseuds/Mimi011
Summary: Tumblr Prompt: Wow can someone write the Brian Deaky hot space hate sex fic please?Things get heated when Brian arrives at the studio.





	Love to Hate You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so I wanted to do this prompt but I don't have the time atm to put in the work for a good sex scene- so if any of you want to continue it, be my guest. I'd honestly love that.

Brian stopped short in the threshold of the recording studio. His eyes widened in shock at what he saw. John braced himself for the inevitable.

“What the hell is this?” the guitarist pointed to the synthesizer set up next to the piano. 

John continued setting up the drum machine. “A synthesizer,” he answered simply, not bothering to acknowledge Brian further.

“Why the hell do we need a synthesizer?” Brian asked, voice rising in agitation. He caught sight of the equipment Deaky was working on. “Is that a drum machine?” 

“Yep,” he said.

Brian shook his head in shock, “I can’t believe you.”

“They’re for Back Chat,” said John, sending Brian a sideways look. “Just- tolerate it, okay?”

The guitarist took a deep breath breath, and his eyes narrowed. John steeled under his band-mate’s glare. Hot Space brought a lot of controversy into the group as they fought over artistic differences. Brian and Roger wanted to stick to their status quo, while Freddie, to John’s delight, was open to some experimentation. John had bowed under the pressure of heavy rock n’ roll for a decade, but not anymore. 

He was going to play funk if it killed him. That was, if Brian or Roger didn’t kill him first. 

“Deaky, look at me,” Brian ordered.

John did.

“You see my hair?” he shook his head for emphasis, long curly locks swishing back and forth. “This is rocker’s hair. I’m a rocker- how can you expect me to stand one second of playing fucking disco?”

The bassist scowled. “If that’s how you feel, then you don’t have to play at all.”

Brian barked out a laugh. “Is that so? Then what- you’re just going to play the guitar from now on? How exactly will that work in concert, when you have to play bass too?”

“Easy- there won’t be any guitar,” John snapped, satisfied by the betrayed look he saw on Brian’s face. 

“You- you can’t-” the guitarist stammered through his anger. “You just can’t go and make that decision!”

“And why’s that?” asked Deaky.

Brian took an aggressive step towards the shorter man. “Because this isn’t just your album- it’s Queen’s album. Synthesizers and no guitar? That’s not Queen.”

“Queen is whatever we want it to be, and at least 50% of the band wants to try funk,” John argued, volume rising. 

He hated arguing like this, especially with Brian. They were supposed to be the two level-headed ones of the band. The ying to Freddie and Roger’s wild yang. If he and Brian fought, Queen would be thrown into chaos. But sometimes, John believed, some anger was good for creativity. 

“Freddie agreed to this?” Brian gawked.

“He wanted to give it a try,” said John.

Brian stared at Deaky for a moment, lost for words. “Unbelievable,” he fumed and turned on his heels.

He walked out of the studio without another word. 

John groaned in exasperation and followed his band-mate. “Where do you think you’re going?” he yelled to Brian, who was halfway down the hall.

The guitarist didn’t bother to turn when he answered, “I’m going home. If you don’t need guitar, than you don’t need me here.”

John scoffed. Unwisely, he replied, “We need you to play the drum machine for Dancer!”

Brian spun around, rage twisting his face. John took a step back, caught off-guard by the furious expression. The guitarist was more worked up about the subject than he’d realized.

“I’m. Not. Playing. That. Goddamn Drum Machine,” Brian bit out, stomping towards John until they were nearly chest to chest. 

The shorter man could feel the guitarist’s hot breath against his cheeks. He glared up into Brian’s hazel eyes. John’s lips quivered, ready to lash out at the guitarist for being so damn stubborn, too damn traditionalist, for sticking to the same genre for twelve damn years.

John didn’t know why he did it. Synapses firing too fast, sending signals to the wrong parts of his brain, maybe. It didn’t matter how, or why, really. His head told him to act out against Brian for being such a bloody moron. So he did.

John reached his hands into Brian’s hair and pulled down hard. The older man yelped in surprise and pain before the possibility of any further complaint was shut down by John’s mouth on his. The bassist kissed him angrily, passionately. He bit down on Brian’s lips hard enough to break the skin. The taste of blood found its way into both of their mouths. 

A growl resonated throughout Brian’s throat. He grabbed John by his shoulders and pushed him into the wall, breaking their kiss. The younger man gasped for breath, shaken by the sudden impact. He glanced up at Brian. The anger John found in the brunette’s eyes brought him back to reality.

“Oh my god,” he said, realizing what he did. “Oh my god. Brian- I’m sorry, I-”

“Shut up,” the guitarist ordered him, voice lowering dangerously. John went silent at once.

Brian gripped his shoulders hard enough to bruise. He looked down at John with a crazed expression. Anger and frustration brought a red glow to his face, burning with an emotion John couldn’t place.

The bassist jumped in surprise when Brian leaned down and forced him into a kiss. His eyes were closed, shutting out everything but the heat of the moment. A moan erupted from the back of John’s throat. He returned the kiss eagerly. The exchange was desperate, hungry. John’s hands found their way back to Brian’s hair, pulling him closer. 

They broke apart to take a breath. 

Brian gazed down at him. The tension between the two band-mates skyrocketed. He glanced down the hall.

“In here,” he led John by his shoulders into a nearby broom closet.

“So predictable,” John murmured. “Just like your music.”

“You son of a bitch,” Brian growled. 

He slammed the door shut behind them before attacking John.


End file.
